When thinking about love poetry, I find that Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet XLIII “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways” to be the poem that, for me, exemplifies what I think of when I think of a love poem, in addition to some of Shakespeare’s sonnets. This poem is over exuberant in its expression of love and affection, which seems contrary to many of the other poems in Sonnets from the Portuguese. Most of the rest of the collection seemed to focus on her doubts and anxieties about her relationship with Robert Browning, so I wonder if this one has become so memorable because it does stick out from the rest. Sonnet XLIII seems unrestrained in its expression of love, even saying, “I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; / I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise” (7-8). What is also interesting is the connection to the divine when she says “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight / For the ends of Being and ideal Grace” (2-4). So, maybe she is saying that her love reaches as high as her soul when she is divinely inspired or in the midst of prayer/connecting with the divine.
I found Constance Naden’s poetry to be refreshing, funny, and satirical when compared with EBB. Not that I don’t appreciate EBB, but having never read Naden, her work seemed to contrast with EBB. I found “Two Artists” to be a biting commentary (to use the cliché phrase) on the painter wanting to portray the beautiful woman, but finds out that her beauty is found in a bottle. I really enjoyed the distinction between reality and fantasy, and when the painter learns the reality (or sees behind the curtain),
The maddened painter tore his hair,
And vowed he ne’er would wed,
And never since, to maiden fair,
A tender word has said.
Bright ruby cheeks, and skin of pearl,
He knows a shower may spoil,
And when he wants a blooming girl
Paints on himself in oil.
(29-35)
Instead of a poem of lamentations or anxiety about what he’s learned and can't deal with, the painter is resolved to create his perfect woman in a painting, since they don’t exist in real life (or we’re led to assume that all women are fake and paint on their faces). While this may seem like an anti-love poem, I would argue that it exposes the reality of love and loss; unfortunately, the painter cannot accept that Edith is not what he thought her to be. This commentary on the superficiality of love could be well served today where there is such a focus on appearances because the poem forces us to question what happens when our impression or illusion is different from the reality? How do we deal with the reality of love?
When thinking about love poetry, I find that Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Sonnet XLIII “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways” to be the poem that, for me, exemplifies what I think of when I think of a love poem, in addition to some of Shakespeare’s sonnets. This poem is over exuberant in its expression of love and affection, which seems contrary to many of the other poems in Sonnets from the Portuguese. Most of the rest of the collection seemed to focus on her doubts and anxieties about her relationship with Robert Browning, so I wonder if this one has become so memorable because it does stick out from the rest. Sonnet XLIII seems unrestrained in its expression of love, even saying, “I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; / I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise” (7-8). What is also interesting is the connection to the divine when she says “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight / For the ends of Being and ideal Grace” (2-4). So, maybe she is saying that her love reaches as high as her soul when she is divinely inspired or in the midst of prayer/connecting with the divine.
I found Constance Naden’s poetry to be refreshing, funny, and satirical when compared with EBB. Not that I don’t appreciate EBB, but having never read Naden, her work seemed to contrast with EBB. I found “Two Artists” to be a biting commentary (to use the cliché phrase) on the painter wanting to portray the beautiful woman, but finds out that her beauty is found in a bottle. I really enjoyed the distinction between reality and fantasy, and when the painter learns the reality (or sees behind the curtain),
The maddened painter tore his hair,
And vowed he ne’er would wed,
And never since, to maiden fair,
A tender word has said.
Bright ruby cheeks, and skin of pearl,
He knows a shower may spoil,
And when he wants a blooming girl
Paints on himself in oil.
(29-35)
Instead of a poem of lamentations or anxiety about what he’s learned and can't deal with, the painter is resolved to create his perfect woman in a painting, since they don’t exist in real life (or we’re led to assume that all women are fake and paint on their faces). While this may seem like an anti-love poem, I would argue that it exposes the reality of love and loss; unfortunately, the painter cannot accept that Edith is not what he thought her to be. This commentary on the superficiality of love could be well served today where there is such a focus on appearances because the poem forces us to question what happens when our impression or illusion is different from the reality? How do we deal with the reality of love?